I Can Carry You
by Saranacian Freak
Summary: Some heavy foreshadowing. Suggesting what Sam is paying Frodo back for in the trilogy. NO SLASH! I'm a very anti-slash writer. If you like Hamfast, don't read this...
1. 1

"Isn't he the most wonderful thing you've ever seen?" demanded Bell, holding out her newborn child for all to see.  
  
"Of course he is, he has to be," said Hamfast gruffly. "He's your son, after all."  
  
Frodo said nothing. He simply stared in awe at the tiny pink creature, who was boredly blowing spit bubbles. He seemed to Frodo perfect in every way. The moment was shattered by the baby's older brother, Halfred, who came running in from outside and knocked Frodo over.  
  
"Hey! Watch it!" he protested, shoving Hal off onto the floor.  
  
"I just wanted to know if second breakfast was ready yet," Hal grumbled, pulling himself up to his elbows.  
  
"No, and it won't be if you don't make it yourself," The Gaffer replied.   
  
"What?" said Hal.  
  
"Your mother's a bit busy, in case you haven't noticed."  
  
As Halfred stomped off towards his room, Frodo asked, "Have you thought of a name for him yet?"  
  
"We're going to call him Samwise," said Bell, her eyes shining with pride. Samwise belched to highlight the importance of the moment.  
  
"It's a nice name," said the twelve-year-old Frodo sincerely. "It suits him." Samwise gazed at him steadily, holding his arms out and squealing.  
  
"I think he wants you to hold him," said Bell. Frodo gently took her burden and held him up above his head. Just then Samwise belched again, and a stream of breakfast hit Frodo in the eye.  
  
"Eeew…" he muttered, wiping at his face, but still holding onto the giggling baby, who was now amusing himself by tugging at his curly hair. "Stop that!" he protested, gently pushing his hand away.   
  
Neither of them knew it, but it was the beginning of a great friendship that would last beyond both their lifetimes. 


	2. 2

Frodo had always been a rather quiet hobbit, given now to musing alone for long hours in dark corners of his uncle Bilbo's house, now to wandering wide in far away fields. He had become much more melancholy and silent since his parents' tragic deaths, and rarely spoke to anyone. So, naturally, it was with great joy that Bilbo began to observe him coming out of himself after the birth of Samwise. He was hardly to be found in the house anymore. Instead, he could be found on long hikes with his young friend, miles from Bag End, more days than not. He usually packed lunches for them, and sometimes they were gone all day.  
  
Several years had passed since that first joyous meeting at Hamfast's house, and Frodo was now nearing his seventeenth birthday. Samwise was five. The two young hobbits were rarely apart.  
  
On this particular day in March, everything seemed perfect. Birds sang from every tree, the world was green all around, and the sun shone in a way that suggested it would never think of stopping.   
  
"Sam and I are going out for a walk, Uncle Bilbo," Frodo called from the kitchen. The old hobbit was seated in front of the fire, gazing into its depths and remembering his younger, wilder days and the adventures he had had. He wondered briefly if such crazy things were in store for his young nephew, then smiled and stretched back in his chair. He much preferred to be here, in his warm home, where nothing was unpredictable and all was safe. His days of adventure were long past.  
  
"All right, Frodo," he called through the open door. "When will you be back?"  
  
"Sometime tonight," Frodo replied, ducking his head to avoid the top of the door as he entered. He was quite tall for a hobbit. "I've packed enough food to last us all day."  
  
"Are you sure you can carry that much?" Bilbo joked.  
  
"Yes, of course, uncle," he replied. "Besides, Samwise has a monstrous appetite. We shan't get far before most of it's gone."  
  
"True, true," Bilbo muttered. "Now you stay out of trouble, you hear?"  
  
"Yes, uncle," said Frodo, bowing his head again as he withdrew. Bilbo sighed. It was good to be home. 


	3. 3

"Where we goin', Frodo?" demanded Samwise, tugging at the pack on his back in a valiant effort to see what it contained.  
  
"Just for a walk. How 'bout the woods? You want to go to the woods?" Frodo asked, gently brushing his pudgy hands away.  
  
"Will we see elves?" the younger hobbit asked eagerly.  
  
"I don't think there's any elves in the woods around The Shire, Sam, but we'll see," Frodo replied.  
  
"Oh boy! And then we can find a river, and get a drink, and…"  
  
Hamfast watched the two fondly as they walked away. He was glad Frodo had taken an interest in his young son, for he was sometimes too much for Hamfast to handle. He often snapped foolishly at him, and regretted it later. His rash words were the cause of many an evening spent rocking before the fire with Samwise in his lap, silently stroking his hair and gazing into the flames. He would never admit such a thing, but he felt guilty for the harsh, impatient words he spoke during the day. Yes, inside the calloused hobbit's heart was a tender spot, and young Sam was at the center of it all. He smiled a small, secret smile and retreated into his burrow.  
  
"Can we stop for lunch now, Mr. Frodo?" inquired Samwise, reaching for Frodo's pack again.  
  
"Sam!" Frodo laughed. "We're not even out of sight of your house yet, and you want to stop for lunch?"  
  
"Oh, please, Mr. Frodo?" Samwise begged.  
  
"Not yet," Frodo replied. "Wait until we get into the woods. We have to make this last all day."  
  
"We're going to be gone all day?" Sam asked in delight.  
  
"That's what I had planned," Frodo answered. Sam ran on ahead, for all the world like an inquisitive puppy, exploring the bright and innocent world. Frodo smiled, glad that, for Sam, the world was still a happy and loving place. He knew that one day it would all come crashing down on him, but was glad to protect him from it now as long as he could.  
  
"Look what I found, Mr. Frodo!" Sam was yelling now. Frodo couldn't tell what he was pointing at from such a distance and ran to find out.  
  
"Sam! Don't touch-" he started. A piercing scream from Samwise interrupted him and told him he was too late. He ran, full speed, and snatched up the screaming hobbit.  
  
"That would be a porcupine, Sam," he said, still running. He heard the creature scrabbling up a tree behind him, but didn't slow down for several minutes. He stopped and set Sam down gently, grimly surveying the spines in his hand. He wiped the tears from Sam's grimy cheek and gripped the hand.  
  
"This is going to hurt, but you have to hold still or they'll be driven in even further," Frodo informed him. There were only three spines, but they were already in fairly deep. Frodo grasped the first one firmly and gave it a sharp yank. Samwise cried out, but the spine was out. Frodo dropped it on the leaves next to him and started on the next one. This one was in somewhat deeper and took quite a bit longer to remove. The third one was barely hooked into the young hobbit's skin at all, and with one quick yank it was out. Sam gave a long, shuddery sob and put the wounded hand in his mouth.  
  
"There," Frodo said with some satisfaction. "Now I bet you want something to eat."  
  
"Uh-huh!"  
  
They dined on delicious thick slices of bread, heavily buttered, and shared water from Frodo's flask. When they had finished and wiped the crumbs from their knees, Frodo said "Well, where to now, Samwise?"  
  
"There," Sam said, and pointed deeper into the woods.  
  
"There's no path there, Sam," said Frodo.  
  
"I know. That's why I want to go there," Sam said, leaping from the rock he was standing on and running off in the direction he had indicated. Frodo shoved the remains of their meal into his pack and started out after him. 


	4. 4

"Don't you think we should be headin' back by now, Mr. Frodo?" asked Samwise, stifling a yawn. They had been walking for hours, and though he would never admit it, his young legs were tired, and he couldn't go much farther.  
  
"Nonsense, Sam!" said Frodo brightly, but he, too, was feeling tired. Suddenly he looked up at the sky in alarm. Darkness had been covering the forest so gradually that he hadn't noticed it, but now he looked up in horror at the swollen clouds about to burst over their heads.  
  
"Um, never mind," he said. "Have some more bread?" he added, holding the pack out to Sam, who nodded gleefully and took a large slice. "We'd best be getting back," he said, still trying to sound cheerful, but Sam wasn't fooled. They spent so much time together that Sam could practically finish Frodo's sentences, and he could sense Frodo's growing alarm.  
  
"Don't worry, Mr. Frodo," he said. "We'll be all right. I'll always be all right when you're with me," he added confidently, leaning his head against Frodo's shoulder. Frodo slowly stood up, closed the pack again, and said "Well, let's be off then."  
  
"Which way?" asked Sam, and they both realized at the same moment that they were lost.  
  
"I think we came from over there…" Frodo started uncertainly, and then was suddenly just as sure that they had come from the other direction. He closed his eyes as hot tears stung his cheeks and he realized he had no idea where he was, or in which direction home lay. Sam, to make matters worse, leapt up and bounded confidently off in the direction Frodo had pointed. "Sam, come back," he said. "We're lost."  
  
Sam's face fell. "I know, Mr. Frodo," he said softly. "I just thought that was as good a way as any to try." Frodo smiled wanly and followed him off among the trees.  
  
Ten minutes later, they were in a large clearing, but still not sure where they were. Frodo seemed to remember coming through it on the way, but Sam said he didn't, and it looked for all the world like the last three clearings they had been through. Sam gave a hopeless whimper and reached up to grasp Frodo's hand. He had absolute faith in Frodo. Frodo would get him through this; he always did. Frodo could do anything.  
  
Just then the rain began to fall, in large, unforgiving drops that made it clear that they meant business. They pelted the ground ferociously, knocking leaves away from the forest floor and soaking everything within a few minutes.  
  
"I'm cold, Frodo," said Sam. Frodo pulled off his pack and cloak, wrapping the latter around Samwise's shoulders and securing it with his pin. "But won't you be cold?" Sam asked, concerned.  
  
"I'll be fine, Sam," he answered. "But it's too long for you to walk. I'll have to carry you." He lifted the pudgy young hobbit onto his shoulders and started briskly off in the direction of what he hoped was home.  
  
"Yay! A ride!" said Sam, but his enthusiasm soon diminished, and he fell into an exhausted sleep, his sodden head pressed against Frodo's cheek. Frodo leaned into the wind, shivering. He was cold without his cloak, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered now, except to press on and find Hobbiton. He wiped his wet hair from his eyes and continued.  
  
He walked like this for perhaps an hour, and finally sat down on a log in despair. "Oh, it's no good. We shall never find it again, and we shall drown, just like…just like my parents." He shuddered in horror at the memory of hearing the news, that day something inside him died, never to be found again. "No. I won't go that way. And if I must, then I must, but I'm not taking Samwise with me. He, at least, has a future. I must go on, if only for his sake." He glanced to his left and noticed a cave of sorts. It was a narrow overhang of rock over a small hollow, just large enough to shelter the two of them. The previous occupant, probably a badger or some sort of rodent, had long gone. He crawled under the rock, pulling Samwise down beside him, and curled himself into a tight ball. Sam snored contentedly beside him as his burning tears fell into the dust. 


	5. 5

"Mr. Frodo? Mr. Frodo, wake up!" Sam said, tapping his shoulder impatiently.  
  
"What?" Frodo mumbled incoherently. "Not morning already!"  
  
"I don't know, Mr. Frodo," said Sam, trying to sound brave. "I can't tell what time it is, what with the storm and all." With those words, Frodo came wide awake, narrowly missing hitting his head on the rock overhang above him.  
  
"How long have we been here?" Frodo asked, peering out into the gloomy gray world.  
  
"I don't know. I just woke up. Can I have some food?" Sam asked.  
  
"Here," said Frodo, handing him the last slice of bread. "We'd better hurry up, it's starting to flood."  
  
It was true. The deep hollow was no longer a good shelter, with the walls running in rivers of dark brown mud. Frodo gasped as he felt the cold water rising around his ankles, and shoved Samwise out through the hole near the level of the ground outside. He tried to scramble out behind him, but panicked when he found himself stuck fast. He realized he was still wearing the pack, removed it, shoved it out through the hole, and easily crawled out. He sat on the edge, looking into the hole with wild eyes and panting. "You can't take me," he whispered, a touch of madness on his breath.  
  
"What?" said Sam tremulously.  
  
"Nothing. I'm sorry, Sam. Let's go," he said, shouldering his two burdens once again. He continued in the direction he had been traveling, trying valiantly to ignore the lightning strikes that rent the darkness, sometimes quite close. Once he had to run faster than he'd ever run before to escape a falling tree, its branches alight with white flame. He paused and looked back at it as it illuminated the night behind him and found himself unable to care. He was numb to the danger they had just escaped, and only began to tremble several minutes later when the full scale of it hit him.  
  
"Mr. Frodo? Look!" said Sam, turning his head in the opposite direction.  
  
"What, Sam?" he asked irritably, gazing off in front of him. "Is that-"  
  
"I think it is!" said Sam. "The lights of home," he added with deep satisfaction. Frodo gave a whoop of pure joy, clutched Sam tightly against his chest, and ran all the way to Sam's house, where he set him down lightly on the doorstep and began pounding on the door.  
  
"We're home, we're home!" cried Sam joyfully when Bell flung the door open to embrace him.  
  
"About time," snarled Hamfast. "Your mother was worried sick. What happened to your hand?" He didn't give Sam time to answer before he went on. "You've got a whipping coming, young man, and don't think you don't deserve it."  
  
"Please, no," interjected Frodo, a pained look in his eyes. "It was my fault. I was the one who took him so far in the first place. If anyone should be punished, it should be me."  
  
"Whatever," snapped Hamfast. "It's my son, I can do as I like with 'im." He moved to slam the door in Frodo's face, but Bell put out her arm and held it open. "All right, you wanna watch?" growled Hamfast. "Fine."  
  
Frodo shuddered and glanced at the long black whip that hung on its solitary peg in the kitchen. Hamfast only used it on his boys when they had been doing something exceedingly dangerous, usually life-threatening. Something within Frodo raged against the injustice of Samwise being punished. It was Frodo's fault, and Frodo felt he should take the lashes.  
  
"Stand over here," Hamfast instructed Sam, yanking the whip unceremoniously from the wall. Sam faced the wall and braced himself, not daring to look at his beloved Mr. Frodo. The whip drew back and whistled through the air, but Sam did not feel its bite in his back. He figured Hamfast was just taunting him, but turned curiously to look. He burst into tears as he saw that Frodo had run over in front of Hamfast and was taking his lashes for him.  
  
"Stop!" he cried, his noble heart breaking.   
  
"No, be quiet, Sam," said Frodo through his teeth, between lashes. "It's almost over."  
  
Twenty more blows landed before Hamfast put the whip down. Frodo knew it was far more times than Hamfast would have hit his own son, but he didn't care. Samwise winced with each blow as if he had been hit himself.  
  
"Get out of my house," said Hamfast, his voice deadly calm. Sam rose from his knees, face streaked with dirt and tears, and ran out the door before his father could say anything. Frodo ran after him, stiffly, the blood sluicing off his back in a crimson stream.  
  
"Why did you do it?" Sam sobbed, hardly daring to look at Frodo's wounds.  
  
"Because I love you, Sam. That's all," said Frodo, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. 


End file.
